Merry Christmas, Baby
by twighlitFF
Summary: Holiday sexiness with Emmett and Rosalie. Winner of the "Canon Christmas" one shot contest.


**Twilight is SM's, I have no legal rights, le sigh.**

I was lying on my back on a dolly, beneath a black 1969 Mercury Cougar jacked up from the ground, examining the filthy carburetor when I heard it.

"Ho, ho, ho!" It came from the living room, somewhere near the fireplace I never used.

I was confused, which didn't happen often. But I couldn't fathom why Santa was in my house. _My_ house. Not Esme and Carlisle's. Well, I guess I should technically say _our_ house, but that's just semantics. Emmett and I had just been married for the fifth time and were taking some alone time apart from the rest of the family, and I thought that living just the two of us in Portland would cut down on the distractions and nonsense that having five other undead roommates tends to create. No such luck.

"Ho, ho, ho!" There it was again, louder this time, resonating through the walls and making the crystal on the $16,000 chandelier shiver in my pristine and pointless dining room. "HO, HO, HO!"

Ok, now he was shouting which was as unacceptable as it was unnecessary. I have vampire senses, thank you. Shouting was reserved for the arguments I always won. I ripped open the door of my adjoining garage and stomped out into the hallway, ready to tear Emmett's rarely-used head off and be declared victor of another of the aforementioned arguments.

I stopped cold when I saw him and I felt my anger giving way to uncontrollable laughter.

Emmett. In a Santa suit. I mean _really_ in a Santa suit, too… padding, beard, glasses… and a rucksack full a presents slung over his shoulder. Something about presents always made me not want to fight.

He grinned widely when I came into his sight line. "Ho, ho, ho," he said once more.

"Emmett," I said on a giggle, "why?"

"Well, little girl, you must have me confused with someone else, I'm Santa!" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small cluster of bells, which he proceeded to jingle at me jovially. "See?"

"Sorry, Santa, I didn't realize you had irrefutable evidence. You don't carry any government issued ID? I imagine it very difficult to get through airport security without a valid driver's license or passport," I mused.

"Don't be silly little girl, I have a _sleigh_ and it's drawn by _reindeer_. Airplanes are for losers."

"Oh, I beg your pardon, sir. I didn't realize you were out and about doing your business already, what with Christmas still being a week away and all. You didn't happen to bring Rudolph and company here today did you? I'm a little thirsty," I said, lifting an eyebrow.

Emmett/Santa looked horrified. "NO! You can't drink my reindeer you wicked vampire!" he yelled, his voice strained.

"Easy come, easy go," I shrugged.

Emmett shook it off and tried to get back into character. "Now," he said with forced merriment and joy, "I'm looking for Rosalie Hale."

"You found her." I jabbed my index finger into his stuffing, taking a guess at where his bellybutton would be. He backed away, all business.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this, little Rosalie, but…" he reached back into his pocket and pulled out a yellowed piece of paper marked up in calligraphy. He unrolled the scroll and squinted at it through his little half-moon glasses. "It appears that you are on my naughty list."

I hung my head in shame. "Are you a naughty girl, Rosalie?" he led.

"Well if it says it on the list, I must be."

"You didn't answer my question."

"Some might say that. Others might say I've been very, _very_ good." I smirked at him.

All business again. "Yes or no, Rosalie?" he demanded. I chuckled internally. He had obviously put some thought into this and I was supposed to be following the script. I conceded.

"Yes, Santa Baby, I'm a very naughty girl," I purred at him.

"Just as I suspected. The pretty ones always are," he sighed, defeated. "Now _what_ am I supposed to do with all these presents? I certainly can't give them to a girl as naughty as you are. You'll be lucky to get coal if you get anything at all." He shifted the bag to the front of him and held it between his boots as he rummaged through it, tossing boxes out as he went, each tied with a red satin bow.

A small Tiffany blue box.

A flat, rectangular orange one from Hermes.

Red from Cartier.

A long gold one from Christian Louboutin. There were leather boots in that box; I could smell them from across the damn room. If my heart was still beating, it would have stopped. I loved nothing like I loved Louboutins. I ached to tuck them into my chest like a recovered fumble, stiff arm him and run away to somewhere I could be alone to worship my footwear.

"Ahh, here we are," Emmett said, pulling something out of the sack. It was a small gift bag that read "Frederick's of Hollywood" across the side.

Seriously?

He kicked the precious parcels aside and made his way over to me. I squeaked out a protest and little piece of me died inside when his big oafy foot stepped on the corner of my CL box, crushing it to the floor.

"No, no, those aren't for you. This, however, has naughty written all over it," he pushed the Frederick's bag at me.

I saw something red and velvet peeking out from the tissue paper. I didn't want to see the rest. He motioned for me to open it and I tried to contain a scowl. Fur trimmed crotchless panties. I wasn't sure whether to laugh or gag. Then I saw the rest of it. A ridiculous bustier that looked like it fondly remembered being a bra but had the cups cut away from it, basically leaving little more than an underwire to keep your goodies on display. With God damn bells jingling from the apex where my breasts would presumably be joined in the center. Oh and of course, matching fur trim. It wouldn't be the most abhorrent thing on earth without the trim. I thought briefly about how men's and women's ideas of what constitutes as sexy are sometimes so drastically dissimilar that the two might as well be from different phyla.

As I tried to make sense of what I was holding, he produced another "present" from his shitty bag-o-tricks. Red, over the knee, vinyl boots. With the same offensive fur trim, naturally. They were, by and far, the most hideous things I had ever laid my eyes on.

I do _not_ wear plastic shoes.

He looked satisfied. I wanted to cry. "Can I trade this for the Christians?"

"No. You're going to work it off as penance being Santa's Little Helper. Consider it a sort of parole or community service." I tried to interrupt but he cut me off just as I opened my mouth. "You should have thought of this when you were being such a bad girl all year. I'm well informed on your behavior. Nothing gets past me, Rosalie. I see you when you're sleeping, and I know when you're awake."

"I don't sleep." I countered.

"I know, you spend eight more hours a day being bad than every other bad girl in the world. You're quite possibly the baddest of them all."

"Go big or go home."

"Yes, you certainly like things big, don't you, Rosalie?" he asked, bumping me lightly with his stuffed belly.

"You're the know-it-all, you tell me," I said, trailing a fingertip from his shoulder to his wrist.

"I think I know exactly what you like," he whispered hoarsely. I could see where this was going. And there was _no way_ I was putting on those heinous boots. It really was a nice idea at heart. It may have seemed tacky and clichéd and not even remotely sexy but when you've been together for nearly three quarters of a century and have an eternity together left to kill, it's best not to judge things like this. It's a good way to pass the time. Emmett and I tried to indulge each other as much as possible when it came to the role-play charade.

I found it adorable that he had put together this whole debauched seduction scene and I really appreciated the effort, thought, and strategy that he put into it, but a girl has to have limits. I drew mine at synthetic kicks. Quickly, it became clear to me what had to be done.

It was reconnaissance time.

I had to make him forget about the slutty Sant-ette.

"Do you? What do I like? What do I want?" I coached, letting my gaze smolder on him.

"The same thing all bad girls want. It's why you act the way you do. You want to get caught. And then you want to get punished," he said thoughtfully, stroking his beard.

I bit down on a laugh. The beard was killing me. But I had to stay focused, I had a mission. You know, to not wear that ugly ass lingerie.

"You ought to get to work on that punishment now," Emmett hedged, eyeing the Frederick's bag that I had surreptitiously lowered to the floor and kicked a few feet away.

I reached up and threaded my fingers into his beard, trying to maintain my serious composure and guilty bad girl look as I pulled his face close to mine. "I didn't mean to do it," I whispered, "I was just… born to be bad. And it feels… so… good." My parted lips grazed across his and I backed away slowly, dragging my palms delicately down his chest and subsequent plush belly.

I hooked my fingers into his costume belt on either hip and gently traced along the front of his torso, sliding them into the hard muscular grooves that formed the delicious V into his pelvis. Reaching up, I pulled the fake tummy out of his suit and discarded it, running my hands along the ridges of his real stomach. All eight of the beautiful compartments that made up his washboard abs. He shivered at the contact and I moaned lightly. "Better," I breathed, using his lapels for leverage to pull my body up flush against his.

Emmett is a very physical being. Not a lot goes on upstairs for the big guy. But it was a very different story when his brain was being manipulated by his penis. Somehow, he managed to maintain some semblance of synaptic activity even when I was doing my best to distract him. If the mind thought it could make the dick happy, he was surprisingly on task.

"Put it on, Rosalie," he groaned as I worked my hands up his shoulders and down his biceps. "Every bad girl's gotta atone if she wants to get her ass on the nice list in time for Christmas. Otherwise…" He stomped down hard on the Louboutin box to prove a point. It felt like he had snapped my femur in half.

I slid my hands down his back, starting to worry. _Come on, penis, get on Team Rosalie, you won't be sorry_, I thought pointedly towards his pants. With my hands at the small of his back, I put the belt between my fingers and snapped; it easily broke apart and I pulled the pieces out of the loops. Without the help of his belly or a belt, the red velour pants pooled around his ankles. I tried to keep my concentration on the diversion I was building but those silk boxers were besting me. Red, printed with snowflakes and "HO HO HO" in an arch across the ass… and its crowning glory, a wreath around the tent his hardened cock was creating.

"I think your underpants just called me a ho," I teased.

"If the shoe fits…" I let that one go because I didn't want to draw attention to the shoe issue. _Focus, Rosalie_, I thought._ This is so much more than plastic shoes. This is a battle of wills now_. Right. That was the motivation I needed. Emmett doesn't get to win. Ever.

I reached up to the beard again, tugged it away from his face, and let it snap back onto his chin. He grimaced. "Very bad girl, Rosalie, this is going to work against you. You're just digging yourself deeper."

I ripped the stupid whiskers from his face and discarded them, bringing my mouth on his, fast and hard with my hands on the back of his head. I was getting desperate, and it showed. Needy and wet, I pushed my tongue into his mouth which he accepted with a resigned groan.

I pulled my shirt apart, sending buttons pinging against the red oak floor, and I tossed the ruined garment strategically over the Frederick's bag. Out of sight, out of mind. I began to work on the buttons down the front of his idiotic Santa suit as he pulled frantically at the denim around my waist. "Rip it," I growled, and he did, leaving me in just a tasteful Victoria's Secret bra and panty set and a pair of killer Jimmy Choos. How he thought faux fur and vinyl could top English lace and leather was beyond me.

In a swift movement I pulled the clasp out of my hair and shook it out, letting it cascade down my back and over my shoulders, hanging mysteriously over one eye. This was the big guns, I knew the way he loved my hair. Emmett growled low, in the back of his throat and laid his big hands on my hips, hoisting me up against him so I wrapped my legs around his waist and he cupped his hands under my ass to support my weight. I helped him shrug out of the jacket, plucking the hat and that preposterous wig from his head and tossing them over my shoulder. I then used my feet to work the ridiculous boxers down his legs. He was naked, save for the Timberlands and the clothes they trapped to his ankles.

I kissed him, hard and passionate and he staggered across the room, waddling with his impaired walk. "Are you ready to play dress up?" he asked.

Oh no. Sex wasn't going to work? I panicked. I thought of the only thing that I ever felt stronger than my desire to fuck. Anger. I did the first thing I could think of that could elicit that kind of response. I bit down on his bottom lip. Hard.

This was a big no-no. As indestructible as vampires are, our teeth is the only thing that can break our skin, and when it happens, it hurts like a mother. "AAARRHHAAGAAH!" Emmett struggled to yell but I still had his lip between my teeth. Oops. I let it go and he glared at me. "Oh _that's_ how it's going to be, Rosalie?!" he fumed. He kicked out either leg and shredded the clothes around his ankles, effectively freeing him to move about as he pleased. I was in trouble.

He crossed the room to the fireplace, plowing me into the brick mantle. My head cracked the masonry and the very frame of the house vibrated with the impact. I shook the mortar out of my hair and put my lips back to his. "Harder," I coaxed.

This infuriated him even more and he raced across the room and slammed me into the far wall that divided the living and dining rooms. I went right through the sheetrock and left a Rosalie-shaped hole in the wall. I smiled. "Is that all you got?"

He stormed through the wall in the dining room, still holding me tightly, and knocked the table on its side, standing stationary in the middle of the room. His eyes lit from behind with evil and I realized what he was planning.

"Don't," I warned sternly. "_Don't_."

He grinned impishly and wrapped a hand around the delicate gold wiring of my chandelier.

"Emmett…" I trailed off.

"Rosalie?" he responded, raising an eyebrow.

He pulled.

The beautiful antique crashed down onto us, the crystal shattering against our granite skin and falling to the floor with the heartbreaking tinkle of broken glass.

"EMMETT! Are you out of your _mind_?!"

"You asked if it was all I got. It wasn't. Do you want to try for more? I know there's an armoire in the study you're particularly fond of," he threatened.

He was right, I loved that armoire.

"No, no, no, I'm sorry. I'll play nice," I cooed, kissing him lightly and darting my tongue into his mouth.

"Oh no, it's not that easy."

No, it was actually very hard, and I could feel it pressing into my stomach. "You're right you know," I baited.

He couldn't help it. He took it. I never said he was right. "About what?"

"I like things _big_."

He groaned and brought his mouth down roughly on my collarbone, kissing sloppily as he lowered it between my breasts. He took the center of the bra between his teeth and bit through it, exposing my naked flesh as the fabric fell away from me. He licked languidly up the length of my sternum to the hollow at the base of my throat and took my slender hips between his hands once more. He pushed hard and pinned me, back flat up against the wall, putting my glorious breasts at his eye level. Lowering his mouth onto a tightened peak, he laced his fingers into the side string of my panties and tugged once to tear the fabric, then pulled them away from me, dropping them unceremoniously on the ground.

He looked up at me angrily as he continued to alternately trace his tongue over my nipple and suck hard at the tip. I knew he was trying to be the tough guy but the pain turned him on and I could feel his anger waning into lust. I was trying to be repentant but I had a hard time coming up with any emotion other than horny. I loved it when he manhandled me like that and the way he flicked his tongue against my nipple like that was making my toes curl up. "More," I pleaded, holding his head against me.

He revolted and let me fall to the floor, where I made an epic crashing sound as I clattered into the fireplace tools. He took several steps back and looked at me as I scrambled onto all fours. "You don't get what you want. You're naughty, remember?"

I crawled across the hardwood towards him. "Do you? Get what you want, I mean?" I asked, raising myself to my knees and eying the phenomenal erection he was sporting mere inches from my face. I didn't give him a chance to answer. I splayed my hands against the front of his thighs and licked up the side of him from the base to the very tip before I eagerly pulled the head into my mouth and swirled my tongue around it. He moaned and I felt the tension escaping him as he knotted his fingers into my hair and I took more and more of his engorged cock into my mouth and pursed my lips tightly around it.

"Rosalie, uhhhn," he managed. "Oh baby, just like that. God, I love that mouth." I smiled around his dick. I knew he couldn't stay mad when I laid down the fellatio. Who could? I looked up at him just the way he liked, one of his favorite images in the world: my lush pink lips wrapped around his rigid shaft, and I winked.

With vampire speed, I pulled away from him just when the getting was about to get good. I righted my posture and walked across the room, teetering a bit on my five inch heels after the substantial beating that they and I received today.

Emmett growled. "What the _fuck_ do you think you're doing!?"

I bent over to retrieve the Frederick's of Hollywood Bag. "Did you not want me to put this on?" I asked, hanging the rope handle of the bag from my pinky. Instantaneously, I felt him pressed up against my back. "Bend over again," he snarled.

"Really, Emmett, I'll do it, back off and I'll be Santa's Little Helper and take the punishment I know I have coming to me. I'm naughty. So very, very, naughty." I took a step away from him.

He pushed me across the room and bent me over the couch. "I can think of a different castigation." He wound up and spanked me, hard and across both ass cheeks with one fell swoop.

He withdrew his hand and did it again, even harder. The blunt force turned me into a projectile and I cracked the frame of the couch. It sagged beneath me and I pushed it across the room and out of our way, where it hit the wall and cracked the plaster, raining dust down over it. Back on all fours, I looked at him over my shoulder expectantly and smirked.

Emmett dropped to his knees behind me and braced his hands around my thighs as he easily slid into me on a moan. "_Fuck_, Rosalie," he hissed. "God that's good." He thrust hard and fast, using the hand around my hip for leverage and winding the other into my hair, pulling it from the roots each time he pumped into me. I could tell he was getting close and I considered it a fair trade that Emmett got to jackrabbit fuck me into submission and I didn't have to wear the stupid outfit. I imagined it could have turned out a lot worse once I introduced the biting and the angry bang. I resigned to the fact that today was not my day but moaned encouragingly to him anyway. I at least owed the big lug my enthusiasm.

Unexpectedly, he pulled out and rolled me onto my back with such force that my fist knocked a hole into the floor when it made contact. He hovered over me and kissed me gently on the forehead as he trailed his fingers delicately down my torso. He stopped at the juncture between my thighs, smiled at me, and slid a finger down the cleft and back up to run circles around my clit. I punched another hole into the floor. "Emmett," I breathed, reaching up to pull his mouth to mine, tracing my tongue around the bottom lip I so abused. "Mmm…"

"Consider it an early Christmas present," he said, "sometimes even bad girls deserve something good." He lifted my calf to the air and laid it on his shoulder, pushing his throbbing cock back into me. I moaned with gratitude, I was positively aching with desire for him and I loved the way he felt inside of me. Like I was full, complete. It was damn near perfect.

It got to perfect real quick when he pressed down on my clit again while he drove himself into me, slow and deep. "Oh fuck. Oh I love fucking you, Rosalie, but baby, you gotta come for me. Because I can't last any longer. It feels too good when you're wrapped around me like this. Oh fuck, you're incredible." He rubbed tight circles into my sweet spot with his fingers, sinking his dick into me excruciatingly slow.

"Emmett, I… oh God, oh Emmett, oh shit… I'm…"

"Say it," he begged, "out loud. Say it."

"I'm coming, Emmett, oh you're so good, oh baby…" I felt my cunt tightening around him, pulsing and taking him over the edge with me as he poured himself into me. My vision blurred and my feet and fingers got numb, it was like there was too much sensation thrumming through my nerve endings and radiating through my body that I had to give up some other sensory perceptions. Emmett, succinctly, was a great lay. And he was so good to me.

When he had emptied the entire contents of what I'm sure was his deepest reserves of splooge, he collapsed on top of me, both of us panting and unwilling to break the contact.

I tipped my head back to survey the damage. It, along with thousands of dollars of shredded designer clothing, was beyond any repair I was willing to commit to.

Yet another house decimated in the throes of passion, courtesy of Emmett and myself. I always forget why we don't live just the two of us more often, and then we bring a building to rubble and I remember again. This kind of shit just doesn't fly under Esme's roof.

I brought my eyes back to his face. "Can I keep the Louboutins?"

"Baby, you can have whatever you want," he sighed lazily.

"Good, because I'm very recently in the market for some real estate."

"Of course, Rosalie," he said, closing his eyes and lowering his head to my chest. He reached up and pulled the half-moon glasses off, dropping them into one of the holes I'd smashed into my gorgeous hardwood floors. Had he been wearing them the whole time? Orgasms make me extraordinarily unobservant. "But if you want me to replace the chandelier…" he continued, pressing his lips to my clavicle, "you'll put on the red boots. And like it."

I exhaled sharply and felt him grinning against the bare skin of my shoulder.

"Merry Christmas, baby," he laughed, and I swear he managed to make those cheese-grater abs shake like a bowl full of jelly.


End file.
